A poem for International Irreverence Day, which does not exist but should.
A Practice of Gratitude
Let us go there, you and I,
where clichés keep space safe for the hard questions.
Fair Trade. Roasted Kenyan. Or Ethiopian dark.
Let us sit with that.
We might have chosen perfectly.
We might have passed the counter
and gone on with our lives, untroubled
by the choice waiting to be made.
But we didn’t.
Let us not regret the order we placed in haste,
but honour the small misdirections
that bring us, somehow, closer to ourselves.
The bean, after all, cannot choose
the pressures of extraction.
It can only show up as itself –
bearing history, possibilities.
What does the bitterness bring up for you?
Can you locate it in the body?
The cup is warm.
The moment is held.
No one is asking you to choose.
All coffees are valid.
All have a story.
We are not here to fix the coffee.
We are here to stay with the feeling.
To welcome the uncertainty.
To make room for the possibility
that you have always preferred tea.
And if that is what you discover,
there is no need to regret the coffee.
It brought you here.
“Grateful,” she murmured.
——–
Write an irreverent verse. It could be about something that cannot bear to be laughed at like god, nation, leaders, family or traditions. Keep it irreverent but do not make it disrespectful. Or about an ordinary person’s accidental act of rebellion, like laughing during a solemn occasion or asking an inappropriate question at a large gathering. Take any direction you want to because looking at the world scenario now, “god” knows we need it very much!
May your poems have sharp elbows, a mischievous eyebrow, and absolutely no unnecessary bows. https://dversepoets.com/2026/10/27/poetics-tuesday-the-art-of-irreverence/
Shared In the spirit of “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” and “Ithaka,” with thanks to T.S. Eliot and C.P. Cavafy for leading me to this space.
Featured image: White Cup and Saucer, 1864 Ignace-Henri-Théodore Fantin-Latour
Yes, there is room for an International Irreverence Day! I like your poem.
Well, there’s a day for everything else. I wonder how it could be celebrated. With what cakes, and colours, and carryings-on?
(Cats of course are naturally irreverent. They are there to be served and worshipped and have an instinctive disdain for human weaknesses.)
Prufrock struck me immediately, Josie, and then I tiptoed through your poem, gently but irreverently, and enjoyed every sip. It also reminded me of my husband, who can’t go anywhere without stopping for a coffee, although he really is a tea person.
Superb.
Very generous of you to say so.
Very subtle, that “murmured” has a sardonic feel! Ah, but if it had only Ben tea….! Well done
Thanks, Ain. I aimed for the “irreverence” to be gentle and not a full-throttle assault!